Calling on a Taoist Recluse in Daitian Mountain without Meeting Him

Dogs’ barks are muffled by the rippling brook,

Peach blossoms tinged by dew much redder look.

In the thick woods a deer is seen at times;

Along the stream I hear no noonday chimes.

In the blue haze which wild bamboos divide,

Tumbling cascades hang on green mountainside.

Where has the Taoist gone? No one can tell me.

Saddened, I lean on this or that pine tree.